


Although, cruel love

by ladylapislazuli



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (that becomes requited), Happy Ending, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22076167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli
Summary: Felix is looking at Dimitri. Staring at him by the light of the moon, and…Oh.“Are you in love with me?” Dimitri says.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 115
Kudos: 795





	Although, cruel love

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [［譯］即使你殘酷無情 | Although, cruel love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750909) by [betty302](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betty302/pseuds/betty302)



> "Although, cruel love, you make me languish, I will always love you true." - English translation of 'Sebben, crudele', by Antonio Caldara
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: An unwelcome romantic advance. Mental health issues. Please see the end notes for full details.*

Felix is not an easy man to read.

When they were children, Dimitri knew the trick of it. Could read Felix’s thoughts in the set of his chin, the furrow of his brow, the tap, tap, tapping of his ever-restless feet. Idiosyncratic, difficult to understand for those who did not know him, but an open book to those who did. Felix wore his heart on his sleeve, and Dimitri could predict his every change of thought.

He cannot predict Felix now.

The war has ended. Dimitri is crowned king, exhausted, bloody, proud. Terrified, too, that he will ruin everything again. That he will descend back into madness before the eyes of those who view him as their saviour, who look to him for guidance and hope in the hard months after the fighting ceases.

He expects nothing from Felix, not really. Does not expect Felix to follow in his father’s footsteps, though Felix does it anyway. Does not expect Felix to take on the role of his advisor, though Felix steps into it with a steely determination. Does not expect Felix to be his friend again, though Dimitri hopes and hopes that Felix will soften towards him over time.

Felix does, but not how Dimitri anticipated.

They are in Dimitri’s office, still grimy and filled with dust and debris. Dimitri has other priorities than his own comfort, a whole continent to rebuild. Felix is angry with him again, for this and many things. They are arguing, as they so often do, because Felix is angriest of all when Dimitri is afraid.

Dimitri is afraid all the time now. More afraid than he was during the war. Terrified of the responsibility that he is almost certain he will fail to live up to.

“I can’t stand you,” Felix snarls. It stings, as it always does, but Dimitri has grown used to it. It is not unfair for Felix to hate him. Not unfair for Felix to tell him so.

Dimitri does not expect Felix, in that moment of anger, to kiss him.

It is not a soft kiss. Felix hauls him down by the shoulder, pressing his lips against Dimitri’s. That part, at least, is not painful, for all that it is surprising. Felix’s lips are warm and chapped. His firm chest is pressed against Dimitri’s own.

Dimitri is frozen. Does not move, and Felix abruptly pulls back.

Silence. Deathly silence.

Felix will not look at him. Folds his arms over his chest while Dimitri stares at him with an open mouth. Unsure what to do, what to say. Unsure if it was _real_ because… this is Felix. _Felix_ , who can hardly stand to be in Dimitri’s company, who refuses all overtures of friendship, who still calls Dimitri _beast_ more than he calls him by his name.

“At least that shut you up.” Felix wipes his hand across his mouth. Derisive, every bit as cold as Dimitri is accustomed to him being. As though he did not kiss Dimitri just moments prior.

But… but he _did_. And no matter how he postures now, Dimitri clearly saw his face before he did it. Saw the fear flash through Felix’s eyes before he took the plunge.

“I… Felix,” Dimitri says. Helpless, confused. This is the last thing he expected. The last thing that would ever, in a million years, make sense.

Felix’s shoulders are tense. “Just shut up, boar, honestly.”

Dimitri is still frozen. Still himself, still all the things Felix has professed to hate. Still angry, and sad, and haunted by the voices of the dead. Still the man Felix has loathed for so many years.

Yet Felix kissed him. He _kissed_ him. And Dimitri wants his friendship back, misses Felix with a keenness that has never quite gone away, but he… he does not want that.

_I can’t stand you_. Then a kiss.

“Felix,” he says. Sad, and guilty, and so desperately confused. “You… you know I care for you, but I… I just… it is…”

He is stammering. Stammering like a schoolboy rather than the warrior and king he is. But then, he _feels_ rather like a schoolboy. Tongue-tied and inexperienced, utterly blindsided by a romantic – _romantic_ – advance from a man who still will not call him friend.

“It doesn’t matter,” Felix snaps. Throws back his head, as proud and irritated as ever. “I’m sick of you going on and on about your guilt, all right? Just shut your mouth and accept where you are.”

If they were closer, Dimitri would know what to say, would know how to push Felix without breaking something. He would know how to talk about this, actually _talk_ , rather than let Felix dismiss it as though it never happened.

They are too changed, too distant. Dimitri does not know how to bridge the gap. _You kissed me_ , he wants to say. _Why did you kiss me_?

He looks into Felix’s face, and he does not dare.

“You are right,” he says instead. “Of course you are right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Felix turns on his heel and stalks out, just like that. Abrupt, cold. Another door slamming in Dimitri’s face. Another injury done to Felix’s pride, while he refuses to allow Dimitri the chance to soothe it. Refuses Dimitri the right of proper reply. Refuses to explain himself, even a little, because the kiss came out of _nowhere_ and Dimitri does not understand.

But Felix is Felix. Felix will advise Dimitri, will fight him, will defend him with his life while hating him all the while. It has been a long time since Dimitri really understood him. A long time since Felix allowed him to try.

\- - -

Six months later, and while Dimitri has not _forgotten_ the incident, he has pushed it to the back of his mind. It is the only anomaly in Felix’s recent behaviour – everything else is very much in line with Felix as Dimitri knows him now.

Felix is harsh, and short-tempered, and speaks to Dimitri with a mixture of irritation and resignation. They spend more time together than they did in their schooldays, but Felix does not relish his company. He huffs and rolls his eyes and calls Dimitri _boar_ , far sharper and more direct with him than anyone else has ever been.

As an advisor, that makes him invaluable. His wits are as sharp as his tongue, his perspective always fresh and challenging. How his mind works Dimitri will never understand, but he is grateful nonetheless. Felix sees solutions that no one else can. Possesses a particular brand of acerbic wisdom that is inimitable and irreplaceable. Without him, the kingdom would be a poorer place indeed.

They work closely together. See each other more days than not. Felix ventures regularly to his duchy, but most weeks he is in Fhirdiad, whipping the other lords into shape and overseeing (and aggressively critiquing) policy decisions.

Felix never mentions the kiss. Never even alludes to it, and so it remains a mystery. Dimitri puts it down as one of the many outbursts that came in the weeks after the war’s end, when the threat was gone but the tension had not yet dissipated. One night at dinner, Sylvain suddenly buried his face in his hands and would not speak for hours. Ashe hurled a book through a stained-glass window. Mercedes and Annette, loyal friends and two of the gentlest people of Dimitri’s acquaintance, had a screaming match in the front hall of the palace. Odd behaviour was rife until everyone settled down.

And kissing Dimitri really was odd. After all, Felix does not seem to like him much. Still acts as though he does not, so Dimitri puts the kiss away in a corner of his mind saved for unanswerable mysteries and lets it lie.

Dimitri is a fool.

Because six months after, Dimitri meets someone, and for the first time in forever his heart skips a beat in his chest. He meets Annaliese, and it changes everything.

She is a woman of common blood. Fought during the war on the Imperial side, though she lacks the bitterness commonly associated with formerly Imperial soldiers. Half of her face is heavily scarred, but she laughs a lot. Laughs all the time, despite the damage done to her, and when their eyes first meet there is an understanding there. A commonality, an immediate rapport that Dimitri possesses with so few, much as he tries to fake it.

She is beautiful. Unusual in her beauty, even before she was scarred, but beautiful.

Felix despises her.

Dimitri does not understand it at first. Assumes that Felix’s hostility is of his usual sort, for Felix is hostile towards everyone at first meeting. It took even Annette time – charming, funny, eternally good-natured Annette - to work her way into Felix’s affections, for he has always been inherently suspicious of people.

This is different. Dimitri and Annaliese talk, and it is unlike anything he has ever known before. He feels breathless every time he looks at her, feels _understood_ in a way that not even Dedue makes him feel. Annaliese has her own ghosts, her own sins to repent, her own grief and anger to reconcile. She is broken in the same way Dimitri is broken. Understands the darkness that claws at his mind, for beneath her smiles she possesses much the same.

She understands Dimitri. _Really_ understands him. And he understands her in turn, and the relief of that is beyond words. Dimitri has not been alone for a long time – is surrounded by friends and companions who know and love him – but he is forever disconnected, forever different. With Annaliese, for the first time in forever, he does not _feel_ alone.

It is exciting. It is intense. Dimitri has only to look at her to feel the breath punched from his lungs. He is exhilarated and terrified by equal measure, her very presence a bolt of electricity through his entire being.

And Felix hates her. _Hates_ her with a ferocity that shocks Dimitri.

It all comes to a head one evening at dinner. Thankfully it is a small affair, primarily Dimitri’s friends and only a handful of visiting guests. Annaliese is one of them.

Felix is in a foul temper the whole evening. Does not so much as twitch a lip when Sylvain elbows him in the side and tries to include him in the tale of the evening.

“I made my escape from the window by climbing down the trellis, listening to the shouting of one very angry husband the whole way,” Sylvain is saying, several drinks in and embellishing extravagantly. “Then who should appear but Felix himself! My knight in shining armour atop his horse, come to rescue me at last. There I was, drenched with water and completely naked on a freezing winter’s night, and he came.”

“You’re full of it,” Felix mutters. Glaring down into his own goblet of wine, largely untouched.

The rest of the table titters, and Sylvain smiles, clearly enjoying the spotlight.

“That’s nothing to the adventures of His Majesty and I in our youth,” he goes on, and Dimitri hastily cuts him off.

“You have far more interesting tales of more recent years, Sylvain.”

“I should like to hear a tale of His Majesty as a youth,” Annaliese chimes in. Smiling, looking up the table at him, and Dimitri can feel himself flush. “He claims he was nothing but a dedicated and dutiful student, but I have my doubts.”

It is a joke. Her eyes shine with humour, and Dimitri’s heart flutters in his chest. His lip quirks. He opens his mouth to reply when -

“What right have you to question the king?” Felix snarls.

The whole table falls silent. A fork clatters onto a plate, and Annaliese’s smile slips from her face.

“I… I meant no insult, Your Grace,” she says.

“Then keep your mouth shut. No need to add treason to your list of defects.”

Annaliese’s scarred, beautiful face whitens. Dimitri almost drops his goblet in shock. “ _Felix_.”

Abruptly, Annaliese stands. Head down, refusing to look at any of them. Unable to. “I beg you would excuse me, my lords.”

She leaves. Dimitri’s heart is frozen in his chest. He wants to go after her. Wants so assure her that she is not defective, not in any respect. Wants to speak the affection he holds for her, secret and quiet in his heart, still unspoken despite the other secrets they have shared.

He looks at Felix, and white-hot anger crashes over him.

Dimitri shoves his chair back. Looms over the table. “Duke Fraldarius. A word.”

Felix curls his lip at him. Unrepentant, defiant, but he stands.

As soon as they are in an acceptably secluded spot, Dimitri whirls on Felix. So angry, all of a sudden, that words are beyond him.

“You’re gaping like a fish,” Felix tells him.

Dimitri stammers. Finally forces out, “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Felix snorts, harsh and derisive. “You can do better.”

Dimitri’s hands are shaking. He has never hated Felix before, but right now, looking at those cruel eyes, that sneering mouth…

“You have no right to speak so. I cannot believe – I am _appalled_. What reason have you for being so _intentionally_ cruel?” Then, when Felix is silent. “Answer me!”

“I don’t owe you a thing. Don’t expect me to sit at the table in silence while you humiliate yourself, slavering at a woman like a rabid dog. It’s disgusting.”

“Felix.” Dimitri bites back the ugly flare of his temper. Forces himself to breathe through it. His fury is a dangerous thing. “I asked you a question, and you will answer. You have gone too far. I cannot have you insulting my guests.”

“ _Guests_? More like Imperial whore.”

In an instant, Dimitri has him by the collar. Hauling him up, teeth bared. Angry, so _angry_ he can barely keep himself from shaking Felix.

“Mind your tongue.” The words are guttural, dark, but Felix does not look afraid. His eyes flicker downwards, just for a second. They flicker to Dimitri’s lips, and a memory flashes through Dimitri’s mind. “What, are you _jealous_?”

Silence.

They stare at each other, and Felix’s eyes are wide. Suddenly he struggles. Shoves at Dimitri’s chest, and Dimitri releases him. Felix is not quick enough to hide, and Dimitri is not so far gone that he does not recognise the look on Felix’s face. It is pain.

Dimitri’s anger snuffs out as quickly as it came. For a moment the only sound is their heavy breathing. Felix rubbing at his neck where his collar dug in, and Dimitri hopes he did not hurt him.

“Felix,” he says. Gentler. Lost.

“Court who you like,” Felix grinds out. “But your simpering is disgusting. I shouldn’t have to sit through it.”

He means to insult Dimitri. To mock him. But Dimitri reads between the lines. Cannot take offence when he knows what Felix is really saying, because Felix kissed him once. Kissed him, and was rejected. Cannot stand to watch Dimitri now, falling for someone else.

Dimitri is such a fool.

“I did not realise…” Dimitri says. “I am sorry. I did not realise it was hurting you.”

“You’re an idiot.” Felix’s face is shuttered, his fists clenched by his side. Snarling, angry. Everything Felix always is, everything that made Dimitri believe Felix does not care for him at all.

“How could I realise, when you speak to me so?” There is no accusation in Dimitri’s voice, but Felix flinches all the same. “I care for you deeply. But I have been under the impression for some time that you do not much like me.”

Felix ducks his head. Folds his arms, and rubs at his elbows. “Like I said, you’re an idiot.”

Dimitri sighs. Spots an alcove not far away where they may sit down. “Sit with me? Please.”

He expects Felix to refuse. To shove his prickly, hateful armour back on and go storming off. But Felix does not.

They sit side by side. Quiet for a time, as Dimitri tries to order his thoughts. He can only assume Felix is doing the same, though when he looks over he finds Felix looking at _him_. Staring at him by the light of the moon, and…

Oh.

“Are you in love with me?” Dimitri says. Blurts it out, far more frank and indelicate than he should be with such a subject.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Felix looks away. Haughty. Silent. Not ranting or snarling or disgusted. Not any of the things that would prove Dimitri wrong, which is admission enough.

In love with him. Felix is in love with him.

Dimitri stares down at his own gloved hands. Fidgets. “I had no idea.”

The noise Felix makes is half derisive, half… something else. Something wet. “Then why did you think I…”

_Why did you think I kissed you?_

“That was some time ago. People did all sorts of things after the war. And you were no different after, so I thought… well. I do not know what I thought.”

Felix shuts his eyes. Exhales. The most vulnerable Dimitri has seen him in so long, and he wonders why Felix is even letting him say these things. Why Felix is not stalking away, when Dimitri is prying into his feelings.

Goddess. Felix is _in love_ with him.

“You are one of my oldest friends,” Dimitri says, and it is a mark of distinction that Felix does not protest the word. “But I cannot read your mind. You are always so angry with me that I…” Dimitri trails off again. Accusations will do no good. “I am sorry, Felix.”

Felix’s shoulders hunch. He looks… small, smaller than Dimitri ever remembers him being. Felix is all fire and steel, abrasive and unapologetic, and he carries himself with an energy that makes him seem unstoppable. It is easy to forget that he has softer parts too. Dimitri should have recognised his anger for what it was, for Dimitri of all people knows that Felix lashes out when he is hurting.

Felix stares down at the ground, his hands gripping the stone wall on which he sits. His knuckles are white.

“You… have feelings. For her,” Felix forces out. Not as hateful as he was at dinner. Still small.

And Dimitri knows what he is really asking. Knows what Felix needs to hear. A clear yes or no from Dimitri’s lips. A clear sign of whether his affections are returned, because Felix hates shades of grey, hates sitting in situations that are not as direct as he likes to be. By implication, Dimitri has already refused him, but for Felix implication is not enough.

Dimitri aches. The grief is sudden and all-consuming, because he _does_ love Felix. He loves him, and he is going to hurt him all the same. Has to reject him, when all he has wanted since they were boys was to have Felix closer, because he does not love Felix like _that_.

“I am sorry, Felix,” he repeats, and he means every word. “I have never thought of you that way.”

Felix is still. Unreadable. Says, after a moment, “It’s fine.”

But it is not fine. It is another wedge between them, another fracture in their damaged relationship. Felix has lost both his brother and his father because of Dimitri, and Dimitri cannot even give him this.

“I am so sorry.” Dimitri feels like he is choking. Swallows around a lump in his throat. “Please believe me. I would do anything to-”

Felix stands. “I don’t need your pity, Dimitri.”

He will not hear another word after that. He stalks away, back straight and proud. As abrupt and forbidding as ever. Never giving Dimitri the time or space to explain, or talk, or reason.

But then, what more could Dimitri ask of him? Dimitri has given Felix his answer. He has no right to expect anything more. Felix is in love with him, and Dimitri said _no._

\- - -

Nothing changes.

When Annaliese leaves, she kisses Dimitri on the cheek and his heart skips a beat in his chest. They exchange letters, and she sends him terrible jokes for his amusement. He sends her stories of his horse for hers, for she is utterly taken with the mare’s mischievous antics. They write often, and life goes on.

Felix is much the same as ever. Direct and sharp-tongued, taking no nonsense from anybody. He is Dimitri’s right hand, wields his power with brutal efficiency. Even the most arrogant of lords are no match for his iron will, and the bravest among them still quiver before him.

He does not speak of his feelings. Never, not even in the vaguest terms. He addresses Dimitri no differently than anyone else. Terse, sharp, sometimes unkind. His manner unchanged, despite his confession.

Dimitri wonders sometimes if Felix has moved on. He received his answer, clear and direct, and may have put any romantic thought of Dimitri out of his mind. Sometimes Felix is particularly sharp with him, and Dimitri is sure that is the case. Sometimes, though, Dimitri is quite the opposite, for Felix is not quick enough to hide the _look_ in his eyes.

Sometimes Dimitri will smile, and Felix’s breath will catch. Sometimes Dimitri will overwork himself, and Felix will storm into his office with his usual acerbic remarks, snapping and snarling but worried behind his façade. Sometimes Dimitri will push his hair back from his face, or quirk his brow, or raise his face to the sun, and Felix will _look_ at him. Will look and look and look.

All these moments Dimitri catches, but they change nothing. He still cannot understand Felix. He does not know how Felix can speak to him with such derision, sometimes even _cruelty_ , when Felix loves him. Felix is _in love_ with him, but he speaks to Dimitri as though he has never loved him at all.

A year into his kingship, Dimitri is struggling. Not with kingship, but with himself. His dark thoughts have taken a turn for the worse, become more present, more consuming. The voices in his head grow louder and louder. His father, Glenn, now Rodrigue, all berating him.

_Useless. Worthless. You have betrayed us_ , they whisper. Over and over they tell him how he has failed them. How he has broken his promises, dishonoured them. They tell him it is his fault they died.

Dimitri tries to ignore them. He has ignored them for so long already – he thought he was better at it. But slowly, he is drowning. Weakening, bit by bit, until he cannot ignore them any longer, loud and cruel and constant as they are.

Today he locks himself away in his office. Not his bedroom – he cannot stand to be in there, where his nightmares plague him the most – and tries to distract himself with his paperwork. To push down the urge to scream building in his chest. To push away the awful feeling of despair that grows with every day that goes by.

He can get through this. He has done it before. But every day, it gets harder.

There is a sharp rap on his office door.

“Dimitri! Open up.” It is Felix.

Dimitri looks up from a sentence he has reread a hundred times, without ever absorbing it. Says nothing, and Felix knocks again.

“Open the door before I break it open.”

Slowly, with great effort, Dimitri pulls himself to his feet. Felix will make good on his threat, he knows, though he is unsure how. The moment the door is unlocked Felix barges into the room. Kicks it closed again, and pins Dimitri with his infamous glare.

“What are you doing, hiding away up here?”

“I am not hiding.” Dimitri rounds his desk again and sits, too heavy to remain standing. He goes back to his report. Stares at it blankly. The words might as well be written in a foreign language.

“I know that look. What’s wrong with you? Have you lost your mind again?”

Dimitri flinches. He cannot bear to look at the disgust written across Felix’s face.

“Leave me be,” he pleads, but it is hopeless.

“You’ve been shirking your duties for _days_.” Felix paces. A panther, a lion. Merciless. “I’m sick of covering up your failings. If you’re too weak to fulfil your duties, come out and say it. Don’t hide away up here like a coward.”

Dimitri’s quill snaps. The noise startles him – he does not remember picking it up. He blinks at it. Useless, pathetic. As pathetic as the dead tell him he is.

“Goddess, look at the _state_ of you. You’re supposed to be a king.”

“Why must you be cruel to me?” Dimitri says. It is little more than a whisper, barely concealing the tremor in his voice.

“I’m not _cruel_ ,” Felix says, and Dimitri can hear his sneer. “If you’re too weak to-”

“You are always cruel to me.” Dimitri is too miserable and haunted to conceal his weakness. But then, his madness is nothing Felix does not already know. “I am trying so hard, but everything is so…”

He cannot go on. Buries his face in his hands and gasps for breath, sad and mad and everything Felix so despises.

“You hate me,” he whispers, and Felix is silent. “You are always so angry with me. Everything I do is wrong. Everything I do is a _mistake_ , no matter how hard I try. What must I do to make you happy, Felix? Will my death be the only thing that satisfies you?”

Dimitri pulls his hands away. For a moment he sees Felix’s face, very white and entirely unguarded. Shocked. _Hurt_.

Then Dimitri’s eye lands on his letter opener. The long, sharp piece of metal right there on his desk. His hand twitches towards it, unthinkingly -

“ _No._ No.” Felix is upon him. Grabbing the letter opener and hurling it away, out of Dimitri’s reach.

It hits the floor with a clatter, and Dimitri stares at it blankly. Confused, disoriented. Not sure why Felix’s face is so deathly, deathly white. Why he grabs Dimitri’s hands in a death-grip, as if expecting Dimitri to fight.

“Don’t talk like that.” Felix’s voice is choked. “Don’t say such things.”

Dimitri looks at him. Really looks, his throat burning. Admits what they both know, the thing that disgusts Felix so. “I am not as strong as you.”

He shuts his eye. The voices of the dead howl at him. _Weak, useless, pathetic_. He cannot bear to look into Felix’s eyes. To see the hatred, the disgust, the derision.

“You are, Dimitri. You are.” Felix squeezes his hands. He sounds pained, and when Dimitri opens his eye again he finds Felix looking… bereft. “I’m… you’re right. I’m too hard on you. It’s not your fault.”

The words make no sense coming from Felix’s mouth. Proud, blunt, ever-pragmatic Felix.

“I am so tired,” Dimitri tells him. Beyond concealment, now. Beyond anything but this relentless pain. He cannot help himself, not anymore. A tear tracks down his cheek.

Felix looks as though he has been punched in the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. Stares at Dimitri, stunned, speechless. His hand hovers near Dimitri’s face as though he means to brush the tear away.

Oh. Dimitri remembers - Felix is in love with him. Does not show it, never shows it. Never acts like he is, not in a way Dimitri can discern. Shows Dimitri only his anger, reminds him constantly of the parts of Dimitri that are not good enough. Insults him.

But now, in this moment, Dimitri thinks he can actually _see_ Felix’s love. Not just know of it in an intellectual way, but see it. It is written all over Felix’s face.

Felix pulls his hand back, jerky. Clears his throat and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.

“Here,” he says gruffly.

Dimitri takes it. Does not use it, but clenches it in his fist. Stares down at it, trying to make sense of the world when his reality is so very fragmented, his mind beyond his own control.

“Dimitri?”

He looks back up. Everything is distant, strangely unreal. Dimitri is lost, completely and utterly, and he does not know how to pull himself back up again.

Suddenly Felix’s arms are around him. He is still standing, Dimitri still sitting, but Felix is close enough to press Dimitri’s head to his chest. To hold him close, as close as Felix ever holds anyone. He is not very good at it. Ends up patting Dimitri’s hair, awkward, but Dimitri does not complain. Breathes in the familiar smell of him, and lets Felix be his anchor.

Felix has nothing to say. No words of comfort or promises that everything will be all right. But he is warm and firm and _there_. Not criticising, not demanding. Just there.

When they part, Dimitri clears his throat. Pushes his hair out of his face, trying to get himself back into some semblance of order.

“Are you going to tell me off again?” Dimitri asks. Might as well get it over with, if that is the case.

Again, Felix looks as though Dimitri has hurt him. He lets out a long, steady breath. Takes back his handkerchief when Dimitri offers it, clenching it slowly in his fist.

“No, Dimitri. I’m not.”

\- - -

Things do change, after that. So slowly it takes a while for Dimitri to notice, locked in his own head as he is, but they change.

Dimitri recovers, slow and steady. Is still moody and sad for a time, but improving. Dedue reminds him that it is natural to him, that Dimitri sometimes experiences these swings, and it is not a cause for terror or alarm. Dedue assures Dimitri he will get better. To be patient, to be kind to himself, not to panic. Dedue is right.

Felix keeps his distance. Is stiff, awkward in Dimitri’s presence, as though he is unsure of himself. Dimitri thinks he has finally driven Felix away from him, finally persuaded him to give up on his unrequited love. Felix has seen his weakness, and is disgusted.

The thought is not a happy one. Dimitri does not want Felix to love him. But he does not want to be despised either.

After a time, though, Felix comes back. Still as quick and proud as ever, but he is more careful with Dimitri. Cautious, restrained. Still angry, often angry, but he gets into the habit of dropping what he is doing and stalking away rather than snapping at Dimitri about it. He keeps the worst of himself to himself, the worst of his temper out of Dimitri’s sight.

He seems sad, sometimes. Spends long hours in the training yards, focused and disciplined. Working towards some goal with a single-minded ferocity, though he says nothing to Dimitri about it. Dimitri knows better than to pry.

Dimitri and Annaliese write less frequently. She comes to Fhirdiad again, and Dimitri is still fond, still feels that easy and uncomplicated understanding, but his heart does not jump when he sees her. She is the easiest friend he has ever made, understands him better than anyone else, but that is all their relationship needs to be.

They are too similar. Too alike in their grief and darkness. Sharing their pain relieves their burden, but being together would not make either of them happy.

Dimitri grieves. It is hard to lose what he never thought he could feel in the first place. But it is for the best.

Felix keeps clear of her this time around. Says nothing offensive, though he spends a lot of time at the training grounds, sparring with anyone who will take him on. In her company, he is stiff and formal, tightly restrained. Leaves as soon as he can, avoids her, but he does not try to drive her away.

The first time he speaks of her, it is in Dimitri’s office. In the evening, when they are alone together. Felix sits and stares into the fire, sprawled out in his chair as though disinterested in the subject, but the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“You haven’t seen as much of Annaliese this time around,” Felix says.

“No, I suppose not,” Dimitri says, finishing his signature on a report.

Felix shifts in his chair. It takes Dimitri a moment to realise Felix is trying to ask another question. He takes a breath in, as though he means to speak, but says nothing. Struggling to find the words.

Of course, Dimitri realises. His quill stills. He was wrong to think he had driven Felix away. Felix still…

Dimitri goes tense. Plays his own reply back in his head, thoughtless and inconsequential. Nothing out of the ordinary in response to a casual inquiry. But that is not all Felix is asking, and there is nothing casual about it.

“She is a good friend,” Dimitri says, far more careful. He sets his quill down. “It is good to see her again, but we have both been busy.”

Felix picks at his sleeve. “A good friend, huh? I thought you only met the once, before this.”

“We exchange letters often.”

“Huh.”

Dimitri hesitates. Unsure how to be honest with Felix, who is his friend, without encouraging or implying anything he does not want. Unsure how honest he _can_ be, without making Felix angry. “She understands me better than anyone, but it is better that we remain friends.”

Felix is silent a long moment. “I’m... I’m sorry. To hear that. I hope…” Felix clears his throat. Takes a moment. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

Dimitri blinks at him. Felix is still looking into the fire, still tense, still trying to pretend not to be. But he sounds sincere. Awkward, but sincere. Offering his condolences and well wishes, in as much as Felix ever does.

Something in Dimitri warms.

“Thank you, Felix. That means a lot.”

Felix colours. Tips his head away, so Dimitri cannot see his eyes. “Her loss.”

The smile that was making its way across Dimitri’s face freezes in place. It is the closest thing to a compliment Felix has paid him in a long time. Dangerous territory, given what Dimitri knows. Given how Felix feels for him.

Dimitri does not know what to say. Panics, and it is right then that Felix decides to face him again.

He takes in the look on Dimitri’s face. Says, sharp and familiar, “Don’t let it go to your ego. I never liked her.”

If not for the look on Felix’s face, Dimitri would take it at face value, just Felix being Felix. But he sees Felix’s mouth twist. The flash of sadness, of rejection, before Felix masks it with disdain.

“Heh,” Dimitri says, more exhalation than a real laugh. He looks down at his hands, unsure how to feel. “I remember.”

“What’s the latest from Count Rowe’s territory?” Felix says. Turning the subject back to work.

Dimitri lets him. But when Felix is not looking, Dimitri finds himself staring at the back of his head, wondering. Felix gave him an out. Is still giving him an out. Still loves Dimitri, that much is clear, but will not push him.

It has been so long. So long since Felix first kissed him, since Dimitri first rejected him, yet here Felix is. Still in love with him. Still pursuing, though pulling back when Dimitri does not want to be pursued. Conceding, where Felix has never conceded anything in his life.

How can it be possible, that Felix still loves him? That Felix still wants him, even after he has been rejected?

“Oi, Dimitri.”

“Hm?”

Felix’s mouth thins. Irritated. But rather than snap at Dimitri, his voice is steady, restrained, when he says, “I said could you pass me that report.”

“Of course.”

Dimitri stares at him again, but it brings him no closer to understanding.

\- - -

As the months go on, Felix becomes less angry.

He is still direct. Still too blunt, and often more honest than is entirely diplomatic. But as time goes on he is different with Dimitri. Still himself, but softened around the edges. Not so cold, not so cruel. His awkward distance fades away, as does the cautious way he was handling Dimitri, but he is not the same angry man he was before.

He remains undeniably Felix. Sharp-tongued and of a fiery temperament that cannot help but be abrasive sometimes. Indelicate, and sometimes still unkind. But he is getting better at softening his blows.

“Don’t be pathetic,” he tells Dimitri. But then, he pauses. Takes in the look on Dimitri’s face, and his jaw does that particular thing it has taken to doing whenever Felix verbally missteps. He re-words, tries again, “You’re worrying too much about this. Take a step back and let me handle it.”

Felix is not a soft man. But bit by bit, he tames the worst of his tongue. Saves his most acerbic remarks for rare occasions – meetings, petitions, public attempts at deceit – where the lashing of his tongue is for the greater good. He wields it as a weapon, sparingly, intentionally, rather than letting it loose whenever his temper rises.

He is invaluable. Much admired and respected in Dimitri’s court. Older, now, and wiser to boot. Quicker to praise, and easier to speak to. Not a man inclined to smile, but he gets a warmth about his eyes that means much the same thing.

He speaks nothing of his feelings for Dimitri. Not a word, not so much as a suggestion. Felix is so outwardly unaffected that once again, Dimitri thinks he has moved on.

Felix changes, but Dimitri remains the same fool he has always been.

Dimitri lies in a bed in the infirmary, in pain and nauseated. Thrown from his horse, with several broken bones, internal bleeding and a nasty concussion. He has thrown up twice already, despite the work the healer has done on him.

Felix is at his side, there before even Dedue. He holds Dimitri’s hair back from his face as he leans over a bucket for a third time, and shushes his apologies when some of it spatters on Felix’s sleeve. Wipes it off, matter of fact, but only after helping Dimitri back into his pillows.

He is there when Dimitri falls asleep. Still there when Dimitri wakes a few hours later, feeling a little better but still decidedly concussed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dimitri says in anticipation of the scolding he is sure will come.

Felix heaves a sigh. Rubs a hand over his face, and he looks tired, drawn. He is still in the clothes Dimitri soiled.

“You’re reckless, Dimitri.”

“I know. M’sorry.”

Felix shakes his head. Leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “The healer says you were lucky.”

Everything about him is tense. Measured, careful, not angry. Surprising, that he is not angry.

“Sorry,” Dimitri repeats.

“Stop apologising. How’s your stomach? Do you need the bucket again?”

Dimitri shakes his head – a mistake, because it hurts – and Felix calls the healer over. Stays while he is examined. Stays even when Dedue arrives, panting and wild-eyed and guilt-stricken, when it is Dimitri who should be guilty. Dedue was on the other side of the city when the accident happened, off cooking with Mercedes to feed the endless stream of orphans left by the war. Far more important work than hovering over Dimitri.

Felix is a commanding presence. Takes charge, easily and swiftly. Will not hear a word of Dedue’s self-flagellation.

“It was an accident,” he says, brisk and matter-of-fact. “No one could have predicted it. Even you can’t watch him every second of the day, and it wouldn’t have changed anything if you did.”

Dimitri feels guilty again. So guilty, for making them all worry. But Felix is not finished.

“Everything comes with a risk. And Dimitri can’t be cooped up in the palace forever. He has to have some fun in his life.”

He looks down at Dimitri then. Still tired, still worried, _still_ wearing the clothes Dimitri partially threw up on, though surely there are spare shirts about. Felix is not angry with Dimitri, even though he thinks Dimitri is reckless. Not angry with Dedue, who despite his natural stoicism cannot contain his anxiety. Felix is steady, collected. It is he who deals with the healers. He who ensures news of Dimitri’s prognosis – good news – is released at once. He who is so calm and self-assured that Dimitri calms with him.

It is strange, that Felix is not angry. Anger is Felix’s primary means of expression. But Dimitri is too concussed to make much sense of it.

He connects the dots later, when Felix thinks he is asleep again. Hears Felix shudder a breath into his hands. Hears Felix’s breathing coming faster, too fast. Hears him stand and speak to the healer. Sharp and angry with her, coming apart at the seams, where before he was so calm and strong.

_Will he be all right? Will there be permanent damage? He looks like death, are you sure, are you_ sure _?_

_He will be all right, your Grace. Calm yourself. He will be all right._

Felix returns. Dimitri is so tired, but he is still awake. Hears the sound of Felix’s knees hitting the floor. Feels a slight dip in his mattress. Dimitri barely has the strength to open his eye, but when he prises it open he finds Felix kneeling at his bedside with his face buried in his arms.

“Goddess, Dimitri,” Felix whispers.

They are not words meant for Dimitri to hear. Shaky, vulnerable. Small.

Dimitri’s eye slips shut, too heavy to keep open any longer. He feels himself drifting off to sleep. Wakes several times in the night, confused and disoriented, and every time Felix’s firm, steady voice guides him back off to sleep.

\- - -

Felix is not an easy man to approach, but he is not as closed-off as he used to be. Approaching him is no longer like approaching a wildcat, all claws and teeth.

He is the Duke Fraldarius, the king’s right-hand man. A wise advisor and a nigh-unstoppable swordsman. A man of focus, discipline and drive, unspoiled by the luxuries of his noble birth and position. Quick, fierce, but with a keen sense of justice and unshakeable moral character.

He is, in other words, an extremely eligible bachelor.

It begins as a trickle, then becomes a flood. Suitor after suitor trying their luck. He refuses them all, firm but not cruel, and his mildness (a purely relative term – Felix is never mild, only mild _er_ than he used to be) only encourages others to try.

And Dimitri worries. Worries so much, because Felix is _still_ in love with him. Never says it, never asks anything of him, but his actions speak louder than his words. He is ever at Dimitri’s side, helping him with the difficult task of ruling his enormous kingdom. He is unwaveringly loyal, but never sycophantic. Supportive, but never blindly so. He is steady, insightful, challenges Dimitri often but not in the way he used to, not with insults or aggression.

He still loves Dimitri. Constant, unshifting, and it makes no sense. Felix is not a sentimental man. Not one for lost causes, or foolish games. Dimitri cannot understand why Felix still loves him, unless…

Unless Dimitri has been leading him astray. Stringing him along inadvertently, giving him hope when there is none, because he does love Felix. His time, his company, his wit. He loves Felix better than almost anyone, and it is not outside the realms of possibility that Dimitri’s affection has been misconstrued.

Dimitri worries. He worries and worries and worries.

“Why are you so twitchy today?”

Dimitri jumps. Drops his quill.

“I am fine.” Dimitri is unconvincing even to his ears.

Felix studies his face. Sighs a familiar sigh. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.”

They head out onto the grounds. It is a beautiful day, and the gravel path crunches beneath their boots. The fresh air helps to clear Dimitri’s head, and he raises his face to the sun, breathing in the smell of autumn.

Felix is silent at his side. Content just to walk and let Dimitri speak when he is ready.

“I have been meaning to ask you, Felix…” Dimitri trails off. They have never spoken of this, not openly. Dimitri should not be the one to bring it up, but it has been so _long_ and he _worries_.

“Ask me what?” Felix prompts.

“It is… indelicate, but I… well, the thing is…”

Felix sighs. “Out with it.”

“I could not help but notice you have received several… offers lately,” Dimitri settles on. “All of which you have refused.”

“Are you talking about Count Bede? I’m glad we’re rid of him. What a bore.”

“Not just him. The others too.”

“Dimitri…” Felix clasps his hands behind his back. Says, direct as ever, “What are you really asking me?”

Dimitri swallows. Anxiety swirls in his stomach, as familiar as it is unwelcome. It takes him a moment to speak, but Felix waits. “I am concerned I might have given you… the wrong impression, perhaps, and if I have misled you in some way I-”

Felix snorts. “Like you ever could. You’re not exactly subtle.”

For a moment, Dimitri calms. Felix never lies to him, so if he says Dimitri has not wronged him, then it is true.

It does not answer his question, though. Does not explain why Felix refuses everyone who expresses even a passing interest. Dimitri struggles to find a way to articulate his thoughts. To find a way into Felix’s mind, an explanation that Dimitri can understand.

“I just think you should give one of them a chance. That is all.”

Felix’s face darkens. “Don’t be cruel, Dimitri.”

That pulls Dimitri up short. His stomach clenches. He regrets it, but far too late. “Forgive me. I do not mean to be.”

Felix is quiet a long moment. Scowling, not looking at him. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“I confess I do not.”

“Dimitri. You _know_ how I feel about you.”

Dimitri’s heart stutters in his chest. To have it stated so blatantly, so frankly... He knows, yes, but Felix has never told him so. Not with words. Felix’s face is flushed, but he speaks with surprising simplicity. Once he would have been mortified, snarling and defensive at any display of vulnerability. Now he is oddly… matter-of-fact.

“I just want you to be happy,” Dimitri says. Confused, faintly miserable.

“I am happy.” Felix flicks a glance at Dimitri and amends, “Happy enough, anyway.”

Dimitri does not _understand_. In all the stories, in every book and play and song, unrequited love is a torturous thing. People fight and languish and die because of it. Maidens waste away in ivory towers. Warriors charge heedlessly into certain death, caring nothing for their own lives. Kings go mad with it, when all the wealth and power in the world will not make their beloved love them back.

Yet there is Felix. Whole and hale, eyes bright, as fighting-fit as ever. Asking nothing of Dimitri, not pushing him, but not languishing for him either.

Felix is a good man. Steady, but for his quick temper, and strong. He will make someone very happy someday.

“I want you to find someone who deserves you,” Dimitri says.

“Ugh, you’re so _stubborn_ ,” Felix mutters. Presses a hand to his temple, and shoots Dimitri a sidelong look. As though _Dimitri_ is the one who is difficult. “I already know you don’t feel the same. So it’s fine.”

That sounds like the furthest thing from _fine_. But all Dimitri can say is, “I am sorry.”

“Why? I’ve made my peace with it. I used to be angry about it, but I’m not anymore. I haven’t always been good to you. I don’t blame you for not wanting me.”

Dimitri’s heart thuds painfully. More affected by this conversation than Felix is, which is ironic, because it is Felix who should be hurting. Felix who has every right to be in pain. Felix, whom Dimitri loves so very dearly, but not in the way Felix wants. Felix, refusing all others because he is in love with Dimitri, without any expectation that Dimitri will love him back.

“What now?” Felix frowns. Looking at Dimitri as though he is every bit as confusing as Dimitri finds him.

“You are a good man, Felix. The very best.” Dimitri may not understand him, but he knows that to be true.

Felix snorts. “You should know by now that flattery doesn’t work on me.”

But he gifts Dimitri with one of his rare smiles. Not just with his eyes, but his lips curving upwards too. Softening the sharp features of his face.

Dimitri’s heart thuds. And thuds. And thuds.

\- - -

_You know how I feel about you_.

Those words haunt Dimitri, and he does not understand why. He has known for a long time that Felix is in love with him. Known for too long, long since Felix should have moved on.

And yet Dimitri hears them, over and over. Hears Felix’s voice in his head. Finds himself watching Felix at odd moments, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

_You know how I feel about you_.

For love of Dimitri, Felix refuses all others. And yet of Dimitri, he asks nothing. Is so impossibly _calm_ about it, and Dimitri cannot – he _cannot_ understand.

It would be so easy for Felix to be cruel about this. For Felix to demand, for he has loved Dimitri so long. For Felix to be entitled, for he has done so much for Dimitri’s sake. For Felix to entreaty, and call on Dimitri’s life-long affection for him, make him guilty and responsible for Felix’s pain. It would be so, so easy for Felix to bring Dimitri to his knees, to render him the worst villain in all of Fódlan, for he has taken Felix’s devotion and given nothing in return.

But Felix does none of those things.

Dimitri does not understand. How Felix can be so matter of fact about it, so practical and pragmatic even when in love, _in love_ , which by all reason should drive him near mad. If it were Dimitri, he would be beside himself.

Felix is not like Dimitri. Sensible and no-nonsense, with little patience for the theatrical and dramatic. Has been in love with Dimitri for years and never once paid suit, not in flowers or flattery or over-the-top gestures.

_You know how I feel about you_. It rings in Dimitri’s mind. Understated, and yet somehow all-consuming. Not a romantic declaration like out of the stories, no kneeling down or dramatic swooning, no poetry or pleading.

Instead… instead, it is a quiet, steady devotion. A fact, that Felix loves Dimitri. That he loves him, will keep loving him, with a simple and undemanding faithfulness, without resentment or grief.

Dimitri does not understand how it can be so simple, but it _is_. Felix, ever at his side. Felix, steady and enduring and striving, always striving, to be the best he can.

_I can’t stand you_ , he said the first time he kissed Dimitri, all force and aggression. _You know how I feel about you_ , he says now, words careful both for his sake and Dimitri’s own. So different, so changed. Steadfast. Strong. Safe.

That is it, Dimitri thinks. That is the difference. That Dimitri is safe with him now.

It is like a flood. A dam breaking as realisation, as _understanding_ , swoops over him at last. Because Dimitri loves Felix, so deeply, so dearly, but he has never allowed himself to consider him. Because Felix can hurt him in a way few others can. Used to be sharp and hurtful and often cruel, and Dimitri learned to protect the parts of him that are most vulnerable.

_Oh,_ Dimitri thinks. _Oh_. It is not just Felix he has struggled to understand. It is himself, too.

_You know how I feel about you_. Simple words, but words that have rocked Dimitri’s world nonetheless. Words he needed, so badly, to hear. From a man who is good to him, not a man who is cruel.

Dimitri drops his face into his hands. Laughs quietly. All this time that has passed, and it is only now he understands.

He can be with Felix, he thinks. Maybe, just maybe, he can be with him.

\- - -

It takes time.

Time for Dimitri to conquer the last of his fears. Time for him to be sure of his own heart. Time for him to allow himself to just _feel_ it, because this is not something to be toyed with, not something to be taken lightly.

He looks at Felix, _really_ looks, and Felix looks back. Steady, warm, undemanding. Always sharp, but not in a way he uses against Dimitri anymore. Felix is just there, woven into the fabric of Dimitri’s life, his closest companion and friend.

Dimitri loves him. Lets his barriers fade away, lets his resistance dissipate, lets the carefully-maintained box around the _type_ of love fall by the wayside. Because he does not need to be afraid of Felix, not anymore, not with any part of him. He lets himself trust Felix, wholly and completely. Lets Felix prove his trust right.

It takes time. It is so different than what Dimitri thought falling in love would be. It is, in many ways, much better. Better suited to _him_ , rather than some fanciful notion of what he thinks he should be. Not the romance out of a fairy-tale, but a romance made for Dimitri, as real and flawed and heartfelt as he is.

They are in Dimitri’s office. It is clean, well-kept, a far cry from the debris-laden mess it used to be. They are not fighting, but sitting in companionable silence, work done for the day. Felix is reading a book – about sword-fighting, naturally – his glass of wine forgotten as his eyes flash over the pages. Excited, so excited, because this book is newly released and written by a famous sword master. He reads it avidly in front of the fire, and Dimitri looks at him and feels unbearably fond.

Not so long ago, it felt impossible. But Felix is not angry anymore. Is constant in his affections, unwavering, faithful. Stable, in more ways than one. His temper will always be quick, but underneath it, in the very heart of him, he is like bedrock. Sturdy, immovable, where Dimitri changes with the tides.

Dimitri will not break Felix. And Felix, changed as he is, will not break him.

Dimitri stands to put another log on the fire. Calm. Not anxious, like he always imagined he would be, and the relief of that is beyond words. There is no drama, no theatre. No distress. Dimitri’s moods are as changeable as the wind, but in this one area of his life he can be steady. Uncomplicated. Happy.

“Felix,” he says.

Felix is still reading his book. Responds, in a way that indicates he is not paying much attention, with, “Hm?”

Dimitri smiles. So terribly, unbearably fond. “May I have a moment?”

Felix sets down his book. Looks surprised when Dimitri extends a hand to pull him out of his chair, though he takes it willingly. Looks even more surprised when Dimitri does not release it. Dimitri looks down at their joined hands, and suddenly he is not sure what to say. What to say, or how to say it.

But it does not matter. He does not have be perfect. Does not have to be afraid. Not of Felix, and not of his own weaknesses, because Felix knows them all already.

“Dimitri?” Felix says.

Dimitri runs his thumb over Felix’s knuckles. Felix’s eyes widen, and his face lights up with hope, with longing. But still he waits. Does not push, as he did the first time he kissed Dimitri. He waits, and lets Dimitri come in his own time. Lets Dimitri come to him.

“I am sorry I kept you waiting so long,” Dimitri says.

Felix lets out a choked noise. Reaches out with his free hand, ever so careful, giving Dimitri plenty of time to pull away. He touches Dimitri’s cheek. Brushes it with his fingers, soft, despite the calluses on his hands.

“You’re impossible,” Felix says. Takes a breath. “I love you, you know.”

It is hard for him. Dimitri can see it is. Openness, vulnerability, those are the things Felix finds hard. Things he does anyway, for Dimitri’s sake.

Dimitri’s heart swells in his chest. A thousand times too big, and it turns out he is not very good at this part either. Cannot speak the love in his heart, when he feels so overcome.

It will come in time. And they have all the time in the world.

Dimitri smiles. He squeezes Felix's hand, still cradled in his. And Dimitri leans down for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> *Trigger warnings: Felix kisses Dimitri without his consent in the first scene of the fic. Dimitri has a bad mental health episode during another scene. His mental health isn’t the focus of the fic, but please be advised that it mentions: auditory hallucinations, depression, dissociation, and Dimitri has a suicidal impulse (no serious attempt is made and the event is not gone into in great detail, but please approach with caution).
> 
> on a less serious note... ayyyy it's me again, using old classical songs as titles for my gay shipping video game fanfiction. it's what the old composer dudes would have wanted

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Although, cruel love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959563) by [zuihitsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuihitsu/pseuds/zuihitsu)




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